"Where does the junta keep its arms stored--not in the meeting-
place on South Street does it?" asked Kennedy at length.
"Not exactly; that would be a little too risky," she replied. "I
believe they have a loft above the office, hired in someone
else's name and not connected with the place down-stairs at all.
My father and Senor Torreon are the only ones who have the keys.
Why do you ask?"
"I ask," replied Craig, "because I was wondering whether there
might not be something that would take him down to South Street
last night. It is the only place I can think of his going to at
such a late hour, unless he has gone out of town. If we do not
hear from Torreon soon I think I will try what. I can find down
there. Ah, what is this?"
Kennedy drew forth a little silver box and opened it. Inside
reposed a dozen mescal buttons.
We both looked quickly at Miss Guerrero, but it was quite evident
that she was unacquainted with them.
She was about to ask what Kennedy had found when the telephone
rang and the maid announced that Miss Guerrero was wanted by
Senor Torreon.
A smile of gratification flitted over Kennedy's face as he leaned
over to me and whispered: "It is evident that Torreon is anxious
to clear himself. I'll wager he has done some rapid hustling
since we left him.
Pages:
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347